


A big misunderstanding

by Tipofmytongue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Best Friends, Depression, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, John is a Good Friend, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, POV John Watson, Sex, Sharing a Bed, holmescest, mylock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28332858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipofmytongue/pseuds/Tipofmytongue
Summary: Sherlock is depressed, John sees it clearly, but doesn't know what to do. A night out with the guys from Scotland Yard makes John learn something new about his best friend. But it isn't until the night after, when it's just the two of them, that Sherlock tells him the biggest secret of all. And John aims to help.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	A big misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more Mylock, I’ve also written this one:   
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27425275

“What’s up with him?” Lestrade asked. John understood what he was referring to. Sherlock was acting more sulky than usual. Actually, over the years Sherlock had been less and less sulky and more and more friendly. But lately he’d behaved differently. Almost as if he was depressed. John was weary and worried, but he didn’t know what to do. He’d tried to find him good cases, but apparently the murderers of London were on a holiday. He’d given him a free pass to shoot at the bins in the backyard, but Sherlock hadn’t bothered to even reply. John had even texted Mycroft and asked if there were any work for Sherlock regarding mysterious happenings at the ministry, but Mycroft had sent a short reply saying he was abroad for an indefinite amount of time and couldn’t help.  
John was at a loss.  
“I seriously don’t know, Greg. He seems… depressed. He sleeps all day, barely eats, doesn’t even mock me anymore.”  
“What do you reckon is wrong with him?”  
“If I hadn’t known better, I’d say he was heartbroken or something, but you know… He’s Sherlock.”  
They stood together at a distance and watched Sherlock sitting on a bench at the other side of the street. He’d come when Lestrade had summoned him to help on a simple case about a missing car – even Lestrade seemed to miss murders at this point.  
“Maybe we can ask him to come with us to a pub tonight?” Lestrade suggested. “We’re going to the one on the corner by Scotland Yard tonight, me and Donovan and Morris.”  
“Yeah, maybe. I’ll ask him.” John said. 

***

“Well. He came at least.” Lestrade said to John. They stood in line at the bar, ready to order their first round for the evening.  
“Well, maybe he’ll light up after a pint or two.”  
They went back to the table and gave the others their beers.  
“Cheers!” Lestrade said, and Sally Donovan, John and Morris raised their glasses. Sherlock barely raised his, just looked around in the room, taking it all in, a flat and sad look upon his face.  
Sherlock was sitting across from Sally. After the events at Sherrinford, which Sally had been told all about, she’d completely changed her attitude toward him. She’d actually started all the way back when she learned that Sherlock had jumped and taken down Moriarty’s network to save her boss among others. She had grown rather fond of Sherlock, once she had bothered to get to know him properly. John was happy that others finally got to see what he himself had seen for so many years already.  
John saw that the two of them were whispering and then Sally got up and announced she was going to buy shots for everyone.  
Sherlock sat in silence while she was away. John leaned over and asked if he was okay.  
“I’m fine.” Sherlock answered flatly.  
Then Sally came back with a bunch of tequila shots.  
“I think we need these.” she said and gave them a couple of shots each.  
“Cheers, guys!” And they drank. 

One and a half hour later John noticed that Sherlock had let his shoulders down a bit and was chatting away with Sally.  
“… nah, you’ve got a terrible taste, woman.”  
“I do not!”  
“Anderson?”  
“That was a moment of despair.”  
“Several moments.”  
“Yes. Well, I could throw that back at you, but I’m going to be nice, Sherlock, and help you instead.”  
John wanted to keep listening to the conversation, but was interrupted by Lestrade who started talking about his ex-wife’s new boyfriend.  
“… you know, it’s like she’s trying to hurt me deliberately by picking someone she’d know I hate. I mean, who wears a yellow spandex when they jog?” he said and bottomed his beer.  
“Sure it wasn’t just a regular outfi -“  
“Whose side are you on, John? More?”  
“Yes.”  
They both went up to buy their sixth beer for the evening, John was feeling quite slushed already, combined with the shots Sally had given them. When they sat down again, Sherlock had disappeared.  
“Where is he?” John asked Sally.  
Sally beamed back at him and pointed to a table in the corner of the bar, where Sherlock was sitting with another man.  
“Who’s that?”  
"No idea.” Sally replied with a tease.  
“But why is he sitting there?” John asked, not understanding anything. But then he saw Sherlock lean in towards the stranger and started kissing him. John was shocked. Sherlock was kissing a dude. A man. He’d never said anything about being gay.  
“Sherlock’s gay?!” John asked the others, feeling puzzled and confused.  
“You’re kidding me, right?” Sally replied and Lestrade said something similar, as if this was common knowledge.  
“What? No, I –“  
“I actually thought you guys had fucked at least once.” Sally said, alcohol obviously driving the conversation further than it would normally have.  
“What?! No! I’m not gay. Jesus. Did you know too?” John asked, looking at Lestrade.  
“Well, do you remember Michael York who used to work with us?”  
“No.”  
“Exactly. He quit, because he fell in love with Sherlock after a one night stand they had.”  
John was completely shocked.  
“Then there was Mario.”  
“Mario?”  
“… and Mickey.”  
“…Diego and Peter - together.” Sally added.  
“Dimmock. He quit too. And Henry Knight, the guy we met in Baskerville, yes?” Lestrade said.  
“No..!”  
“Oh yes.”  
John didn’t understand one bit. How could Sherlock have been hiding this from him?  
“I seriously thought he was just asexual. He told me first time we met almost, that women wasn´t his – oh. Women. Right.”

John had to admit that Sherlock hadn’t said anything about him not being into sex. He’d said he was not into women. When he was thinking about it, he had to admit that it made sense. Sherlock was almost always impeccably dressed, wearing expensive cologne and putting products in his hair, as he had deduced about Moriarty that time in the hospital. Maybe Moriarty hadn’t faked it at all. It didn’t matter, he was dead a long time ago. John looked at Sherlock again. He whispered into the man’s ear and then they both got up and walked toward the exit and then they were gone.  
“Wow. I had no idea. I must be the most oblivious man on the planet.”  
“As Sherlock would say; you see, but you don’t observe. Now, let’s take him up on his example and find ourselves some ladies.” Lestrade said, his voice as blurry and drunk as John felt.  
“Cheers!” John said, and him, Morris, Sally and Lestrade clinked their glasses and continued their evening. 

***

John woke up face down on the couch, tasting the dust of it and feeling his head pound harder than he could ever remember it to have done before. Similar to the time of his bachelor party with Sherlock, when they’d woken up in prison. He slowly opened his eyes, knowing this day would be a pure hangover hell. Luckily his daughter was with Harry this weekend, otherwise he would have failed on every parental skills test he might have been subjected too. He wasn’t sure why he had woken up, but he felt that something had disturbed him. What? His head was pounding, as if someone was actually hitting him repeatedly. Wait, someone WAS hitting him repeatedly. John turned around, a movement that caused his insides to threaten to exit violently through his mouth, and looked into the eyes of his best friend.  
“Sher… what time are we?”  
“Someone had too much yesterday. It’s ten in the morning and I need to know where we keep the coffee.”  
“What?”  
“Coffee. The brown thing you make us every morning. Pulverized beans extracted by underpaid black workers in Africa. Where do we keep it?”  
“Next to the fridge.” John said and fought to sit up straight. As he managed to take in the room - its too bright light, the dust flying in the shimmer of the sun coming from the windows - he saw that someone was sitting at the kitchen table. It was the man from the pub. He got up and tried to ignore the pounding that somehow hadn’t subsided after Sherlock had stopped hitting him. The room was spinning, or he was, he wasn’t sure. He needed water, the inside of his mouth was dry and probably smelled like death.  
“Hello.” he said as politely as he could in his current state. He saw Sherlock’s weary eyes on him and he decided to pull himself together for their guest.  
“Yes, Alan, this is John, my roommate and best friend.”  
“Nice to meet you, John.”  
“Likewise.”  
“So you had a good time yesterday, huh?” John said as he helped himself to a glass of water.  
“I don’t usually get coffee after a one night stand, so I’d say it was pretty good.” Alan said and Sherlock winked at him, but John could see that the wink never reached his eyes.  
“Anyway, John, here, take this.” Sherlock said and offered a handful of pills. “They’re different minerals, pain killers and vitamins, combined they should kill that hangover in a couple of hours. I’m sorry I woke you.”  
John took the obvious hint and excused himself and headed upstairs to his bedroom. His head was still spinning, but somehow he managed to fall asleep quite quickly. 

***

When he woke up again it was already 3pm. He sat up and felt almost fine, a bit dehydrated, but mostly fine. Sherlock had really given him a miracle cure for hangover. If only it was known to the world he could make a fortune on it and retire, he thought. He showered, got dressed and as he descended the stairs he heard that Sherlock was playing the violin. It sounded beautiful, heartbreakingly beautiful, so sad, so hopeless, but still, so Sherlocked, so beautiful. He let his best friend finish before he acknowledged his presence.  
“That was fantastic, Sherlock. You didn’t write that yourself, did you?”  
“Why?”  
“No, it was… that was amazing.”  
“Thank you. It’s… Never mind.” He put the violin away and sat down in his chair. John sat down in his own and knew that Sherlock was trapped: He would have to talk now.  
“What’s going on with you, Sherlock?”  
“What?”  
“The past couple of months you’ve seemed really depressed. And then I learn you’re gay, and then there’s the music. There’s so much new stuff, I don’t know where to begin.” John said.  
“Well.” Sherlock said calmly. “Me being gay isn’t news, but I’m sorry if it’s news to you. I didn’t think it was something to have a conversation about.”  
“No, it’s not. But it’s news to me still. I’m sorry, I always thought you were, you know, asexual or something, and it makes me glad to learn that you actually find pleasure in… you know.”  
Sherlock didn’t reply. Once again his face, his whole body, drifted back into the depressed state John had witnessed lately. It was painful to watch.  
“Sherlock…”  
“I don’t find it to be very pleasurable.”  
“But the Alan guy from this morning – it was Alan right? – he seemed nice?”  
“Yes, he was.”  
“Then what…?”  
“We agreed it was a one night stand, like I always say when I get involved with someone. And it feels good at the time, you know that, but then there’s… John, you wouldn’t happen to be up for some more drinking again, would you?”  
“Does this conversation require alcohol?”  
“It most certainly does.”

***

Sherlock poured them both large glasses of red wine and the lit the fireplace. It was actually quite cosy. John felt content. Finally Sherlock was actually opening up a bit after months of shutting down and drowning in his own darkness.  
“So you and Sally are getting along quite well, huh?” John said, trying to break the ice.  
“She’s actually not that much of a moron once you get to know her.” Sherlock said and almost bottomed the glass in one go.  
“Another glass?” he asked, and they kept the conversation light and casual until they’d emptied the first bottle.  
“I hate my job.” John said.  
“Why?”  
“It’s so mundane. I hate the clinic. I hate sick people. I hate it.”  
“Do you want me to put in a good word for you somewhere? Perhaps at Bart’s?”  
“Neh, never mind. So. Sherlock. Tell me what’s going on then. That music you played. It tore right through me. It sounded like…. Like a broken heart.”  
“Yes, it was… very telling.” Sherlock replied. John saw that his hands were shaking. John let the other one steer the talk, it was his darkness they were talking about after all. And hopefully John would be able to find some light within it all. 

“John… Okay. There’s… For a really, really long time…” Sherlock finally said and poured himself a new glass of wine from another bottle. “… I’ve… I’m usually better at composing sentences than this. I think I’m afraid that what I’m about to say is going to end our friendship.”  
John felt his heart skip a beat. Why would something Sherlock was feeling end their friendship? He felt scared all of a sudden, not wanting to dive into this mysterious content of Sherlock’s heart. Or maybe…? No, it couldn’t be.  
“Sherlock, you’re not… are you in love with someone?”  
Sherlock sighed.  
“Yes. And when I tell you, you won’t like it.”  
John knew what was coming, and he was not sure how to react. He’d never had any interest in men, he’d never had any interest in Sherlock, but still, he loved him, but as a friend. They would get through this too, they had to.  
“Sherl – erhm – are you in love with me?” John said and took a large sip of his wine. The man before him seemed to stop functioning all of a sudden. His movements – the motor functions a bit more out of control due to the heavy drinking – stopped mid air and his eyes looked at John in shock.  
“What?” Sherlock said, after what seemed to be several minutes.  
“You’re afraid of our friendship, and we’ve lived together for so long, and I thought perhaps – and, Sherlock, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” John said. Sherlock had been right, this conversation did require alcohol. He’d never been able to say these things so lightly if he hadn’t been on the highway to slushed.  
“Well, good, but I’m not in love with you, John. Is that… disappointing?”  
No, it made it all easier. No, it was not disappointing. But it made John wonder who Sherlock might be in love with then, if it was so bad it could end their friendship? 

“I really love you, John, you know I do, but as a friend. You’re my best friend. But I’ve loved someone else for a much longer time, and I hate it, but it’s been managed, at least a bit, except for some drug things, you know all about that, and then I had to write that list all the time, and… But I can’t manage anymore. Not lately.”  
What the hell was Sherlock going on about? John didn’t understand one bit. Who was he talking about then? Lestrade?  
“Is it Lestrade?”  
“Why would our friendship end because I’m in love with Lestrade?” Sherlock replied dully and John actually smiled a bit as this was a tiny glimpse of the normal Sherlock.  
“… but he’s got a nice arse though.”  
John laughed and Sherlock joined in, but half-heartedly. 

“Just tell me already.” John pleaded after a while and offered to fill up Sherlock’s almost empty glass.  
“Don’t resent me, John. Please. I’ve been in love with him for so many years, I’ve managed to accept it and I’ve kept my head above water because I’ve been able to spend time with him. But the past months it’s been hellish because we’ve been estranged, and the estrangement has made me love him even more somehow.”  
And then it dawned on John. How had he not seen this?  
“Mycroft’s been abroad for some months, hasn’t he?” John asked. He didn’t know what to feel about this, but he knew that his best friend was truly hurting. How could one be in love with his own brother? But then again, they were two very strange people, probably the only ones in this world who actually resembled one another. Maybe it wasn’t so weird after all.  
“Yes, he has…” Sherlock answered and John didn’t know whether it was the wine or the broken heart, or both, but he saw a tear running down Sherlock’s chin and the tiny drop of salt water was all it took for John to decide what to do.  
“Sherlock, listen to me. I’m your best friend. I’ve got your back in this, you hear me? I support you, stupid.”

John saw how Sherlock’s entire body changed from scared and withdrawn to more secure.  
“Are you serious? Just to be clear, you understood from the conversation that I’m in love with Mycroft, right? My brother? Which I know is both controversial and even illegal if acted upon.”  
“Anyone in this room who hasn't broken a law, raise a hand.” John replied to make a point before he continued:  
“Yes. I got that. And I understand it. I might find it a bit weirder in the morning when I'm sober, but I understand it completely now. And I will always have your back. Does he know?”  
“No, of course not. Why do you think I’ve treated him so badly all these years? Self-preserva… fuck, that’s a difficult word to say after several glasses of wine. Self-preservation.”  
John poured more wine, emptying the second bottle.  
“So. Mycroft doesn’t know. And your drug habit is because of this?”  
“It can be difficult to cope sometimes.”  
“High-functioning sappysoth… sopiosath – you know, that - up my arse, Sherlock Holmes!”  
For det first time in months Sherlock actually laughed. They laughed together. John had experienced loss and love many times throughout his life, and he knew that being able to talk about it with friends, always helped.  
"Thanks, John.” Sherlock said after the laughter had died.  
“What for?”  
“For being my friend. I didn’t know I could talk about this with anyone ever. Thanks.”  
“No problem, mate. I’ve wronged you in the past, but I’m here now, and I love you, Sherlock. I got your back.”

They clinked glasses again.  
John watched his best friend sip drunkenly at the contents of the glass in his hands. Sherlock’s hands were beautiful. Long fingers, manicured subtly. Sherlock’s entire body frame was impeccable, his lean attitude, the way he held himself when he sat, his legs crossed over one another.  
“Is Mycroft gay too?” John asked suddenly. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually been meaning to say it out loud.  
“He’s bisexual. Meddled a lot with both sexes at Uni, but I haven’t kept track of his conquerings of late for obvious reasons.”  
“What’s it like?” John asked, feeling the wine steer his thoughts out of control.  
“What’s what like?”  
“Gay sex. I’ve seen it a couple of times – porn – but I’ve never imagined how it is.”  
“You’ve never tried alone either?” Sherlock asked with a surprised look on his face.  
“Never.”  
There was a predatory look on Sherlock’s face and John felt his own body stir in his seat.  
“Want to try?” he heard his best friend ask casually, as if he wanted them to try squash instead of pasta in their lasagne.  
“Seriously, Sherlock. Try?”  
“Look, you get horny when you’re drunk, I’ve witnessed that on several occasions, and here you are bluntly asking me how gay sex feels like. I’m happy to let you try it, just this once, if you can promise me that it won’t affect our friendship and that you, no matter how extraordinarily I will fuck you brains out, accept that it will happen just this once.” Sherlock said, sounding sober. John felt his cock twist inside his trousers who were too tight all of a sudden.  
“All right. My bedroom or yours?”  
“Mine of course. We need lubricant.” 

***

“On your back, John.” Sherlock said in a low seductive voice. John didn’t actually find Sherlock himself arousing, but the atmosphere, the fun of it all and all the talk about sex and love had made his cock wake up, despite all the alcohol. John obliged and laid back on Sherlock’s bed. The expensive sheets made of blue satin smelled of flowers and Sherlock’s signature cologne. John watched as Sherlock unbuttoned his own shirt, before moving his trousers and socks, leaving only the black briefs and very little left to his imagination. He fumbled with his own t-shirt, but finally managed to pull it over his head. When he had removed his trousers he saw that Sherlock had let his pants fall to the floor as well, revealing a large cock, and John felt subconscious about his own appearance, knowing that he was nowhere near the size of Sherlock’s member or in the same area as his abs and muscles. He hesitated as his hands moved toward his own briefs. He had never felt vulnerable during sex before. Sherlock obviously picked up on John’s insecurity because he leaned over him and kissed his belly, his nipples and his neck all the while whispering:  
“You look quite sexy, soldier. No need to worry about anything.”  
Sherlock moved John’s pants and the cold air in the room felt good on his achingly hard cock now. 

“Ready?” whispered Sherlock, still kissing John everywhere but on the mouth. John understood why and was fine with that. Kisses like that were for lovers, not one night stands.  
“Yes. I think so.” John breathed back. Sherlock’s kissed continued downward again and when he reached John’s cock he took it all into his mouth at once, making John cry out in pleasure. My god, how could fellatio feel that good?! Sherlock moved his mouth up and down on him and it was as if his whole body was on fire. After some minutes and a lifetime, Sherlock moved his lips to John’s balls and then asked him to turn around. John felt nervous, but it was a nervousness filled with anticipation, and at this moment his entire body ached for more.  
“Just relax, John.” Sherlock said with his dark barytone and suddenly John felt something wet and warm inside his arse – Sherlock was fucking him with his tongue. It was pleasure like he had never felt before. The intrusion was vivid and more than welcome and John could barely breathe. Somehow Sherlock had managed to grab hold of the lube and wetted his hands with it, without ever moving his tongue from John’s hole. And then fingers replaced the tongue, first one, then another, then a third and Sherlock moved inside him with care, letting his muscles relax and stretch. It felt so good, a bit painful, but mostly good. As if Sherlock knew exactly when all the pain had gone he withdrew his fingers and John heard the sound of the lubricant being opened again.  
“Ready?” Sherlock asked again and John was amazed about how considerate his normally rude and obnoxious best friend was when it came to sex and pleasure.  
“Yes.” John whispered feeling more ready than he could ever be.  
And so Sherlock entered him and it was a sensation like nothing John had ever felt. Pleasure and pain filled him up as if he was going to burst and yet Sherlock hadn’t seated himself fully within him. Slowly Sherlock moved inward before their bodies were joined completely.  
“You okay?” Sherlock asked and John heard he was breathing faster.  
“Ye-yes. Go on.” John urged, and Sherlock started moving. Slowly at first and then faster. For every thrust Sherlock’s cock touched John’s prostate, sending sparks of pleasure through his body, and at the same time Sherlock’s large hand was stroking John’s cock, reaching it from top to bottom just by holding it. The ecstasy of it filled him up, filled up his being until John couldn’t hold back any longer. The orgasm soared though him, making his arse pulsate around Sherlock and he felt semen shot out of him and onto the expensive sheets. Moments later Sherlock came, filling John up with cum before they both collapsed on the bed together, laughing.  
“Wow” was all John could say in between his rapid breathing. As Sherlock exited him he felt the fluids follow, leaving a white trail of stickiness around his hole.  
“Feeling good?” Sherlock asked casually as he stood up and entered the bathroom. He came back with a wet towel and a glass of water and some pills.  
“Towel for your arse, pills and water to prevent most of the hangover tomorrow. We are good, yes?” he said and dropped himself back into the bed.  
John accepted the goods and started wiping himself before he swallowed Sherlock’s miracle cure for hangover.  
“Sherlock, that was amazing. Seriously.”  
“A life time wasted on women.” Sherlock said mockingly.  
“Nah, I couldn’t do that to a guy what you just did to me. The tongue thing though. You think I can find a woman who will do that?”  
“Probably, but she won’t be as good at is as I am. But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”  
“I really did. Thanks. Or what you say to your best friend after he’s fucked your brains out. Is it okay if I crash down here, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for some hours, my body’s turned into jelly.”  
“Sure. Right side’s mine. Night John.” Sherlock said and then they fell asleep. 

***

The next morning, or should one say midday, John woke up lying next to Sherlock. Despite all the alcohol, John remembered everything from the night before. He felt a bit sore, but it was a good feeling. He couldn’t believe he had just let his best friend fuck him like that. And poor Sherlock, so hopelessly in love with a man he would never have. John looked his best friend, so peaceful and vulnerable as he was in his sleep, and wished there was something he could do for him. But what could he do? Mycroft was, first of all, called The Ice Man, and for good reason. He was also an old-fashioned man who abided by laws until the laws didn’t suit him and then he had them changed. He would be the last person in the world to succumb to an incestuous relationship. And him and Sherlock were so estranged it was almost a joke, all of it.  
Well, John could at least be a good, supportive friend to Sherlock, and talk him through his pain and longing.  
“Sherlock, hey, do you want some breakfast? I’ll get us some from Speedy’s.”  
“Mmmm..” Sherlock’s back replied and John chuckled before he got out of bed and into the shower. 

***

Armed with fresh coffee, two warm plates of English breakfast and freshly pressed orange juice, John exited Speedy’s. As he was about to enter 221B he saw something off: The knocker had been straightened. But Mycroft had been abroad and had been so for ages. Only Mycroft bothered with the knocker, Sherlock had complained to John about it so many times. He must’ve been here then, but not right now, because the door still stood ajar as John had left it when he entered the café. So he must’ve been here earlier this morning. When they had been asleep. Mycroft must have seen them through the open bedroom door they hadn’t bothered with closing. But why hadn’t he said anything? When had Mycroft Holmes given up a chance to scold or reprimand his little brother? Unless…? No? Could it be? If it was, this was Christmas and triple murders on the same day. John quickly sprinted up the stairs where he found Sherlock by the window playing the violin again.  
“Hey, Sherlock, I gotta… I gotta go and do something. But breakfast’s here if you want some.”  
“Mmm…” Sherlock didn’t say anything else. The dark mood had retaken him then.  
“I’ll see you later.” John said knowing that Sherlock had tuned him out completely, drowning in his own sorrow and melancholy. But hopefully not for long. 

***

“But I need to see him!” John cried at Anthea, the intimidatingly beautiful woman who worked as Mycroft’s PA.  
“Well, his last words to me before he entered his office was that he didn’t want to see anyone today and…”  
“And what?”  
“… if John Watson ever comes within my range again I will peel off his skin and boil him.”  
“Seriously?”  
“He’s a compassionate man.”  
“Let me take that risk, all right?”  
“That’s brave of you.”  
“I used to be a soldier, you know.”  
“So you’re comparing Helmand with an agitated Mycroft Holmes? Sweetheart, Afghanistan was a holiday. But please, go ahead.”  
She gestured at him to enter the office. John was nervous. He knew Mycroft wouldn’t actually hurt him – but perhaps make him disappear forever until he was found freezing in Siberia until eaten by cannibals or Russians bulls. No, Mycroft was nice, they knew one another. He was a soldier, Mycroft was… only the head of MI5, MI6 and the entire military of the British Nation, also a phone call away from trained killers and assassins, possibly a well-trained one himself. No, this was good. All good.  
John entered and saw Mycroft sitting with his head in his hands, almost shaking.  
“Mycroft?” John said as he closed the door firmly behind him.  
Mycroft looked up at him. John was prepared to be met by anger, war, nuclear bombs or worse, but instead he saw a small and deeply sunken man who was actually crying. Mycroft Holmes was crying. What the actual hell?!  
“I advise you to leave these premises immediately.” Mycroft said, trying his best to master the skill of the Ice Man, but failing miserably. John heard the shaking in his voice. The hurt. The angst. The sorrow.  
“Your deductions are wrong, Mycroft.” John said, knowing he had to make a clear point quickly before Mycroft would let his vulnerability and sentiment turn into an actual nuclear war.  
“Leave, John.”  
“No. I said. Your deductions are wrong. You went to Baker Street this morning, didn’t you?”  
“For fuck’s sake, Dr. Watson, leave my office!” Mycroft said and stood up, letting anger wipe out the effects of the tears.  
“No, I can’t leave your office, because Sherlock is in love with you, and I needed to see you in order to know for sure if my suspicions were correct and they are! Look at you, you’re a bleeding heartbroken mess!”  
Mycroft sat back in his chair again, looking shocked. John was fascinated by it all. The man in the bespoke clothes, the three piece suit and the impeccable behaviour was completely falling apart in front of him. As if the entire nation crumbled under their feet.  
“What?” Mycroft finally managed to say.  
“Your brother is in love with you and he’s been in love with you for ages. If you had come to Baker Street some hours later you would have heard him playing his violin. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful. It’s all for you. Sherlock’s been depressed for months now, because you have been away. The drugs, the bickering, it has been his way of coping, of managing his feelings. For you.”  
“What?” Mycroft said again, and John saw how tears once again appeared in Mycroft’s eyes – eyes John had always found to be like frozen ice, black water and a dead end into nothing, but now they were filled with stars and galaxes. Ice had been replaced by fire. By hope, by deep affection. Wow, how was this even possible? To hide one’s true self so completely?  
“This story has a happy ending, Mycroft Holmes, if you dare to let it.”  
“But. I saw the two of you. This morning.”  
“Yes, well. He told me last night about his love for you, I hardly knew he was gay, and then we got really drunk and I asked him what it was like, you know - “ John didn’t complete the sentence when he saw Mycroft’s grimace.  
“… well, anyway. We agreed to have sex once to let me try it. When we got up again he reached for his violin and started playing again. He’s been filling his life with meaningless one night stands because he has been in love with you for ages and believed he couldn’t have you. But he can. Can’t he? You love him?”  
Mycroft leaned back. It felt nice being in charge of the situation like this. He’d seen Mycroft vulnerable when they had pranked him about Eurus with dwarfs and clowns, but it was nothing compared to this.  
“Yes. I love him. And I have loved him for ages.”  
“Gosh, you two are so stupid.” John laughed. "You could have been together all this time.”  
“It’s incest.”  
“Yeah, well, it’s not like you’ll make a weird baby or anything. Come on, Mycroft, grow a pair. You love him.”  
“There are laws…”  
“Well, fix the laws then. You can make this entire nation bend to your will just by putting on that weird creepy smile of yours. I mean it, Mycroft. I may be just another goldfish to you, but I’m a trained army doctor with the most boring job on the planet and I would like nothing more than to kick your arse every feet until we reach Baker Street so that you can speak to your brother.”  
Damn, that felt good. And to his astonishment the melted Ice Man got up from the chair he was sitting in and put on a coat. 

***

Five months later, Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Donovan and Lestrade were seated together in one of the pubs near Baker Street.  
“So guys, as of today I can finally tell you why I’m so happy!” Sherlock said and clinked his beer with the others.  
“Why today?”  
“Because today you can’t arrest me for it, Detective Inspector!” Sherlock smiled.  
“Oh god, what have you done?” Lestrade replied, but was cut off by Sally.  
“God, you’re daft. Don’t you read the papers, Greg?”  
“What?”  
“Well, Sherlock brought his brother here, which he never does, and today we could read about the new TIGER act, passed in both houses.”  
“Sorry, Tiger?”  
Mycroft answered:  
“Not Tiger, but T.I.G.E.R. The incestuous gay relation act, E.R.”  
“What? E.R.? What? Ince – what?”  
“Homosexual people can apply the Queen for getting involved in relationships within their families now. It’s a new law.” Sherlock said. “And thankfully, brother here is BFFs with Queenie.”  
“My god, are you two together?!” Lestrade cried.  
“Yes, we are, Greg.”  
“And you’re calling me Greg. As if the heavens haven’t fallen already.” 

And with the accompanies of John and Sally’s cheers and the pleading looks of both Sherlock and Mycroft, John saw a smile erupt on Lestrade’s face. And it wasn’t weird at all; the Holmes brothers' happiness was contagious. Well, almost. A sharp pinch of loneliness bit on John’s insides as they were cheering and clinking glasses. But now it was Sherlock’s turn this time and John was truly happy for him. 

Mycroft’s phone beeped and John saw a smile spread on his face, not the creepy smile he had seen so many times, but a genuine smile of kindness. He had seen that smile more and more frequently the past months and the two brothers, who now spent almost every available minute together, had really brought out the best in one another.  
“John, Sherlock, we have to go. Excuse us and thank you for a lovely evening.” Mycroft said to the rest of the party. Sally winked at Sherlock and John followed the two lovers out on the street where they were met by a familiar black car. 

They entered and found Anthea sitting in the back seat, fingers running across her Blackberry.  
"It’s all set, sir.” she said when they had all entered and the car drove off.  
“Good.” Mycroft said and took Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock’s head was resting comfortably on his brother’s… his lover’s shoulder. A smile was spreading on both of their faces as they turned their attention to John.  
“John, we are here thanks to you. Your deductions made this happen. If it hadn’t been for you, Sherlock and I would have tiptoed around one another for the rest of our lives, never being able to live out the happiness we now experience. So, if you will accept our way of saying thank you –“  
“I’m not getting into a threesome with you or anything." John blurted out, half jokingly.  
“No, John, as much as I enjoy your company I prefer to keep you out of our bedroom. We’re headed for Hampstead, by the way, Anthea, if you would direct the driver there.”  
“Already done, sir.”  
“Good. Well, John. MI6 has a personal staff of doctors who work on injured agents, and believe me, there are plenty. The head of staff, doctor Livingstone, has recently been removed, leaving an important, but unfortunately vacant position. I trust almost nobody to be good enough to fill that position, except for you, Dr. Watson.” Mycroft said. John couldn’t believe his ears. Was Mycroft actually offering him a job? As head of the MI6 doctors?  
“Just smile and say yes. Anthea will provide you with details on the way back to Baker Street after we’ve been dropped off at my house. But you should expect quite a jump salary wise and… mundane wise.” Mycroft winked and Sherlock smiled.  
“Yes. Yes!” John replied, still stunned, and the company, even Anthea, cheered with him as the car drove through the streets of London. 

After the Holmes brothers had exited the car and disappeared inside the large mansion that was Mycroft’s – and soon Sherlock’s – residence, John felt that melancholic sadness creep upon him again. He had Rosie, of course, who was with Molly for the night, but now that Sherlock was off being happy with Mycroft, he felt strangely alone and left behind. He had almost forgot Anthea was still there when her voice brought him back to reality.  
“So, Baker Street, then?”  
“Yes…” John replied.  
“So, sex with Sherlock was good, then?”  
“Oh lord. I was just trying it for fun.”  
“I know a woman who likes to do that to her man.” Anthea said, almost twittering it like a teasing songbird.  
“God, he told you I said that?”  
“He did! Sure you want to go to Baker Street?”  
“Where else should I go?”  
“Kentish Town, maybe.”  
John felt his heart pounding with excitement.  
“And what’s in Kentish Town?”  
“My house.” Anthea replied and for the first time for as long as John could remember, he saw her put her blackberry away and turned and looked at him, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language.


End file.
